


Masquerade

by EchoThruTheWoods



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 05:38:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9642917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EchoThruTheWoods/pseuds/EchoThruTheWoods
Summary: Vincent keeps a tight rein on his headmates. Sometimes, one of them will slip the leash.





	1. Chapter 1

Surveillance was an old, familiar game. Veld knew it well. He’d done it with the Turks, and now with the WRO. Same old routine. Only the players had changed. Well, except for himself, and his partner, kneeling beside him on the roof of an old decrepit building. Almost like old times.

Veld peered across the street at an equally run-down building. Doors and windows boarded up and scrawled with graffiti in neon green, brick walls crumbling under a sagging roof, it appeared long-abandoned. You had to look closely to see the waves of heat distorting the air over the canted chimney. Vincent’s enhanced hearing had picked up the sound of hushed voices. Their targets were inside.

Vincent had been twitching and muttering for over an hour, not what you wanted to see in a rifleman. Veld leaned close to whisper in Vincent’s ear.

“What’s the problem?”

Vincent blinked, hard. “Nothing.”

“Do you need to go back to HQ?”

“No! I’m…fine. Just…hoping these new stunner darts will work.”

“They worked on the volunteers who helped with testing. I need you to focus.”

“I told you I’m fine! I’m--” Vincent paused. “Vehicle approaching.”

Veld’s attention snapped back to the street. A few minutes later, a van pulled up before the target house. Its matte black sides bore no identifying marks; its windows were heavily tinted.

Curbside service, how convenient.

Figures emerged from behind the house, moving quickly toward the street. Eight, no, nine men. All in plain, dark trousers and coats, knit hats low over their brows. Each man had a child or two by the arm, hurrying them down the walk toward the van that idled at the curb. None of them had a gun out in the open. Good.

Vincent glanced at Veld. “There’s been no activity for weeks. How did you know…?”

“Eyes on the target, Valentine.”

Vincent sighted just above the barrel of his rifle, aiming for the man in the lead. Veld sent a phone signal to the other WRO agents hidden along the street, watching as carefully-laid plans fell into place. Four, three, two…

Vincent jerked, rocking backward. Veld thought he’d been shot, until he heard the frantic muttering. “No no no shut up _no!_ ”

“Valentine!” Veld hissed. “Now!”

The gun drooped in Vincent’s loose grip. “Hullo, Bronze…”

Veld wasted no more time. He grabbed the rifle and fired. A man dropped, then another. One of his agents took out two more. The darts worked as promised, disrupting central nervous systems; the downed men twitched and convulsed.

Veld was a crack reflexive shot, but Vincent’s hesitation had thrown off their timing, giving the leader time to move--and the bastard was fast. He drew a gun and fired at the WRO agents converging on his group. An agent fell, and all hell broke loose as the rest of the gang brought their own guns out.

“Shit!” Veld dropped the taser rifle in favor of his own pistol. He picked off another man, cursing as the screaming children scattered, getting in his line of sight. One man pushed a little girl out of his way and ran. The kid froze, her small face frantic. Bullets and darts flew back and forth, bodies falling on both sides, agents closing in on those still standing.

The leader turned to run. A dart took him in the back. He stumbled, firing off a last shot as he went down.

The little girl cried out, staggered, fell.

“Fish in a barrel,” Vincent crooned, “ducks in a row, let me have a go!”

Veld snared him by the collar of his jacket. “Valentine! Are you in there?”

Vincent looked up, wearing a strange, twisted smile. “Maybe later, not right now…”

Veld shook him. Vincent’s head snapped back, eyes darting wildly. “Veld?”

Veld let him go. “Get back to HQ. My office. And stay there!”

Vincent scrambled down off the roof. Veld followed, running to take charge of the debacle they’d made of the mission.

 

# # #

 

She looked like Felicia. Wasn’t, of course. Veld knew that. His daughter had grown up, become someone else entirely; she had died as Elfe, defiant to the last, though he had reason to think she hadn’t, at the end, hated him. However much he deserved it.

This girl might be anywhere from eight to twelve. Hard to tell, skinny as she was. Homeless, like the lot of them. Just another street kid, scooped up by procurers, the lowest form of life on the planet.

She looked too small even to be eight, and too pale against the hospital sheets, her head wrapped in bandages, machines breathing for her. Materia being in short supply now, they had to rely on less esoteric methods.

She had a chance, the doctors said. Not a good one; they’d almost lost her during surgery.

All because the best marksman on the planet had choked at just the wrong moment.

Veld left the infirmary. He’d reported to Reeve and visited the morgue, and now he had one last task to finish before this endless day was over.

With luck, he wouldn’t screw things up any more than he already had.

Veld found Vincent in his office, pacing. When Veld walked in and shut the door, Vincent stopped.

“Where were you? It’s been hours!”

“Shut up and sit down,” Veld growled.

“Veld--”

“I said SIT DOWN!”

He sat. Veld stood in front of him, silent, until Vincent dropped his eyes and some of his attitude. Not all of it. Veld knew that look from his Turk days: Petulant and defensive, primed to get in the first shot.

They both knew who would win that game, and he wasn’t in the mood for it. He leaned in close, well aware how much Vincent hated that when it wasn’t his own idea.

“Now, this should have been a relatively simple job,” said Veld. “Dart them as they come out. Don’t traumatize the kids with bloodshed. Take the men alive so they can be questioned.”

“Veld, I’m sorry--”

“A little tricky to get the timing right, but nothing beyond your skills.”

“I know that, but--”

“Didn’t I ask you,” Veld said, “to warn me if you couldn’t control whatever’s in your head?”

“…Yes.”

“And you didn’t. Did you?”

“…No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“I didn’t think--”

“I noticed.”

Vincent scowled. “Are you going to let me talk?”

“Not if you’re going to make excuses.”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” Vincent said, pushing the chair back.

“You walk out now, you’re gone for good.”

“You can’t kick me out! Reeve’s the boss--”

“And you’re going to let him down when he’s counting on you?”

That shut Vincent up. He flushed and went still.

Veld stood back, still seething, gripping his patience with both hands. “We fucked up today, Valentine. We lost two agents, let one of the traffickers escape, and put a little girl in intensive care. Frankly, I don’t give a shit about your reasons. Whatever they are, they’re not good enough.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want your word that it won’t happen again.”

Vincent shook his head, hair flying. “I can’t promise that. He’s been pushing me, pushing hard! I’m doing the best I can, but--”

“He?”

Vincent sighed. “Hellmasker.”

Veld’s eyebrow rose. “It’s got a name?”

“I like to know who I’m talking to,” Vincent muttered.

“And people say I’m crazy,” said Veld. “Look, I don’t care what the hell you call it. The next time one of these creatures knocks on your brain, you tell me! Preferably before someone gets shot!”

Vincent rose, and Veld knew that trick, that attempt to loom over him, using his height to intimidate. “You don’t have to be such a prick about it.”

Veld grabbed him, pulled him to within an inch of his own face.

“You are suspended from field duty,” Veld hissed. “Anything more you want to say?”

“…No.”

Veld tightened his grip. “No, what?”

“No. SIR. May I go home now, SIR?”

Veld smiled, but there was no humor in it. “Don’t think I’m letting you off because we share a bed. You cost us an unarmed combat instructor. Tomorrow you can take over his class. Now get your ass out of here.”

He let go. Vincent caught his balance, took a moment to straighten his jacket. If he’d been wearing the damn cloak he’d have probably snapped it around his hips. As it was, he managed a flip of his hair that came close enough, and stormed out without another word.

Now who was being a prick?

 

#####

 

By the time Vincent arrived home, it was past two o’clock in the morning and Veld was in bed behind a closed door. Vincent paused there, listening, his preternatural hearing easily picking up the relaxed, even rhythm of Veld’s breath in deep sleep.

The closed door told him they wouldn’t be sharing a bed tonight, perhaps for many nights to come. Until Veld forgave him, Vincent’s only companion would be the one who lived in his own head.

It was no longer possible to know its origin. He’d lived with it so long he didn’t know where he ended and Hellmasker began. It was the same with the other entities, but they’d been slowly growing more quiescent, while Hellmasker grew stronger, more aware, more unruly.

More prone to breaking loose at just the wrong moment.

Veld had blamed him for the whole debacle. Two dead agents was a tragedy, yes; but losing one trafficker? They’d brought in eight! What was one man?

And the child. Why the hell did Veld care more about a street kid, a total stranger, than he did about his own partner? Dammit, why didn’t she just--

“No! Stop it!” He shook his head, as though he could dislodge the ugly thought. He didn’t mean it, didn’t really wish for an innocent child to die.

_Is she innocent? Isn’t she getting in between you and Bronze?_

“No.”

_Pretty Bronze, pretty eyes, little brat why don’t you die…?_

Vincent shuddered, clutching his head with both hands, fingers squeezing his skull.

“Shut up!”

Mocking silence answered. He accepted it. It was better than listening to that whining voice for the rest of the night.

#####

 Valentine tended to sulk when he was pissed, especially when he was also in the wrong. Veld had no use for attitude, not back when he was head of the Turks, and not now in the WRO.

Too bad his own attitude sucked, but then, when he messed up, he went big time.

He should’ve pulled Vincent out ten minutes into that stakeout. Now he had to deal with the consequences.

He watched Vincent working with new recruits in the unarmed combat class. No denying Valentine was powerful, graceful, and dangerous, with or without a gun. No denying that Veld liked to watch him, either.

A young man, maybe twenty or so, faced off against Vincent on the practice mat, circling him slowly, looking for an opening. Vincent barely seemed to be paying attention, but there were subtle signs: A flicker of the red eyes, tension in the long limbs. The recruit slipped behind Vincent and made the usual mistake, assuming Vincent couldn’t deduce his next move.

He could, and did. One swift movement of his arm caught the recruit as he lunged, and slammed him to the mat.

Veld winced. Vincent yawned.

Give the kid some credit. He bounced up and aimed a punch at Vincent’s torso. Vincent caught his arm and twisted, forcing him to his knees. The moment he let go, the kid rose and threw another punch. Vincent spun him around, wrapping an arm around his throat.

Veld stepped in before the struggling recruit turned blue. “May I…?”

Vincent blinked, and released the recruit, who stood coughing, eyeing Veld warily.

“Look, you can get out of that hold,” Veld said. He put an arm loosely around the kid’s neck, tightened his hold just enough to begin to constrict his breath.

“Turn your head toward my elbow. Now you can breathe. Do you know the pressure point on the elbow? That’s how you loosen your assailant’s grip, but you need to be fast, and then follow up.”

He let go. The recruit turned to face him, rubbing his throat, but grinning.

“Thanks, sir.” He gave a quick bow. “Talbot. And you’re Director Dragoon, of course. I’m honored.”

“Good to meet you, Mister Talbot.”

“Will you be instructing as well, Director?”

The kid had an eager smile, and bright eyes, in a face that had seen a bit of rough handling. The bruises were fresh, but Veld couldn’t fault Vincent. No one else was going to go easy on WRO troops.

“I take a turn now and then,” he said.

“I’ll look forward to that,” said Talbot, bowing again before stepping off the mat.

Veld turned to see Vincent’s sniper-intense glare on him. “What?”

“Nothing.” Vincent turned back to the recruits and pointed toward the track at the far side of the room. “Ten laps!”

His heated glare followed Veld all the way to the door.

###

_Bronze put his arm around another man_.

“Shut up.”

_He doesn’t need you. You fucked up. He can find somebody else, somebody better._

“No. Veld loves me. He wouldn’t do that!”

_Does he? Wouldn’t he? We should make sure, shouldn’t we?_

“What the hell does that mean?”

_Talbot’s got to go._

“No. Shut up.”

_And we need to show Bronze…he belongs to us._

“Not you,” Vincent muttered. “He’s mine.”

_We’ll see…_

_#####_

 Something about Talbot irritated the hell out of Vincent. He couldn’t put a finger on what, exactly. The kid worked his ass off, and learned fast. Maybe it was the attitude, just a little too cocky and smug.

Vincent had just shown the group a move that Veld had once taught him. He paired Talbot with another recruit to practice. Talbot picked it up quickly, taking the other man down with a no-wasted-motion efficiency.

Vincent watched, silently approving at first, as Talbot used a knee to pin his sparring partner to the mat. Talbot had the man’s arm behind his back as well, and gave it a twist that was definitely not part of the lesson. The man let out a sharp gasp.

“Talbot,” Vincent snapped. “What are you doing?”

Talbot glanced at him. “Improvising.”

“Let him up. And don’t do that again.”

Talbot released the man, turning to face Vincent. “Sir.”

As he bowed, Vincent glimpsed a smirk, but when Talbot straightened his face was perfectly bland.

Veld dropped in the next day to observe, as well as give the recruits a few pointers. Talbot volunteered to assist, following Veld’s instructions to the letter, with no little embellishments of his own.

“Good man,” said Veld at the end of the session. “We could use more like him.”

Vincent scowled. In the back of his mind, Hellmasker hissed.

\---

Veld came home to a cold, dark house. Either Vincent wasn’t home or he’d forgotten to turn on the lights again. A glance into each of the bedrooms proved the former was the case.

Tired of eating alone, Veld set two places for dinner. He and Vincent hadn’t shared a meal, a bed, or a conversation for a couple of weeks. If he could kill one or two of those birds, maybe the rest would follow.

Half an hour later, the front door slammed.

When Vincent walked into the kitchen, Veld sighed and put his gun down on the counter. “Don’t do that.”

“Why didn’t you wait for me?” Vincent snapped.

“You were buried in paperwork,” Veld said, brows going up at Vincent’s tone. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You couldn’t wait until I was done?”

“You’re old enough to find your own way home. What’s the matter?”

“As if you didn’t know!”

Veld took a moment to get a grip on his temper. Vincent knew how to push his buttons; Veld wasn’t playing that game. “No, I don’t know. How about you tell me?”

“You. And. Talbot.”

“What?”

Vincent snorted. “Oh, don’t play innocent!”

“Valentine, I haven’t been innocent since I was ten, but I sure as fuck don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Combat class. You had your hands all over him.”

“Vincent. Are you accusing me of getting off on touching a man in class?”

“Weren’t you?”

“You son of a--” Veld took a step away, before the urge to punch his partner in the face got the better of him. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“No, damn it, don’t make this about me!”

“It _is_ about you. I never cheated on my wife and I’ve never cheated on you. Either you accept that or you don’t. Which is it gonna be?”

Vincent visibly teetered on the edge, breathing hard, his eyes flaring beast-red. Gods, was it that hard to choose? Veld’s stomach sank.

Vincent shook his head. “Fine. Whatever. Never mind.” He was out of the kitchen before Veld could blink.

“Wait a minute! Vince, let’s talk about this, you haven’t even eaten--”

“Not hungry.” The door slammed again.

“Well,” Veld said to the echoing silence, “I handled that, didn’t I?”

 #####

 Pitch dark, creaking floorboards. A scent of rain and musty earth, grip like iron pinning his hand flat as he groped under his pillow for the gun.

“No.” Deep, breathy, familiar voice.

“Vincent?”

“Were you expecting someone else?”

“Not this again.” Veld relaxed in Vincent’s grip, taking some of the pressure off of his wrist. Anger made Vincent forget his own strength. “You want to talk?”

“I talk. You listen.”

Despite himself, Veld tensed. “Lose the attitude, Valentine.”

“Make me.”

“Fine.” Veld went limp, twisted free and rolled, using his weight to trap Vincent under him. “Now. You wanna try this again?”

“Fuck you.”

“Vincent--”

_“Vinnn-cent,”_ came the mocking reply, an octave higher than normal.

_Oh, shit._


	2. Chapter 2

Veld released Vincent and slid to the edge of the bed, reaching for the bedside lamp, because this was NOT Vincent and he was not going to deal with this in the dark.

The light revealed Vincent crouching beside him like a gangly gargoyle, shirtless, hair hanging every which way, and wearing someone else’s face.

The elegant bones and the pale skin were the same, but the dancing, darting eyes, the mouth shifting between sly grin and childish pout, were nothing like Vincent’s usual mien.

Veld had gone to bed alone, knowing that Vincent would come home when he was ready. And he had, but….well, same chassis, different driver.

“Okay, who are you? You should at least introduce yourself before you come crawling into someone’s bed.”

Not-Vincent edged closer, looking at Veld out of half-hooded eyes. “I’m the one he doesn’t want you to see.” He put his hands up to his face, peering out between his fingers. “The masked one, the secret self.”

“Fine, I’ll call you Mask. Now what do you want?”

He never saw where the knife came from. It appeared in Vincent’s hand, the tip just touching Veld’s collarbone. Veld froze. Light flickered from the blade as the knife scored once, twice, three times, four burning lines in quick succession just below the hollow of Veld’s throat.

“Mine,” Vincent growled. “You will remember that. Mine. Not Talbot’s.”

“All right.” Veld kept his voice low, kept calm, while blood trickled down his chest. “I told you there was nothing between me and Talbot. You know I’ve never lied to you.”

This persona was the one who liked sharp things, and the last time he’d shown up he’d tried to kill Veld. Well, to be fair, it hadn’t been Vincent or even Mask, but an assassin using Vincent’s body.

The assassin was long gone. This was all Mask.

Very slowly, Veld reached with his metal hand until his fingers closed around Mask’s wrist. “Give me the knife now, okay? Talbot’s not here. It’s just you and me.”

Mask tilted his head, gaze fixed on Veld’s face. He dropped the knife.

“Play with me, pretty Bronze…”

He slung his arms around Veld’s neck, squirming onto Veld’s lap.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna happen,” said Veld, disentangling himself with some difficulty as Mask reached again and again, and dammit those hands were  _ everywhere _ . Veld had at least thirty pounds on him, but Mask had Vincent’s longer limbs and inhuman strength, and knew how to use them. He wrapped Vincent’s wiry arms around Veld and lowered his head, tongue scraping over the bloody knife marks.

“Okay, that’s it. Get…off!” Veld struggled to his feet, dumping Mask onto the bed. “Stop that!”

Mask went still, blinking hard. The lines of his face changed, flickering like a pinwheel from light to dark, from wide-eyed surprise to deep-set bitterness. He rose, arms crossed, shoulders hunched.

“I….apologize for the presumption.”

_ Double shit. _ “Vincent?”

Vincent nodded. Head lowered, he went around the bed toward the door. “Go back to bed, Veld. I won’t bother you again.”

“Vince, wait! Come here. I know it wasn’t you.”

“But that’s just it…” Vincent glanced at him, pain twisting his mouth. “…It was.”

He fled. A moment later the lock clicked on the other bedroom door.

Thoroughly confused, Veld sank onto the bed. From now on, he was going to keep a bottle of rum in here for moments like this.

\-----

“Damn you, Mask, why couldn’t you stay out of it?”

_ You let me. _

Vincent couldn’t argue with that. He’d given up control, and Mask had run with it. Could he have made a bigger mess of it?

“Thank you for completely humiliating me. It’s not bad enough Talbot’s been kissing up to Veld, now Veld doesn’t…doesn’t want me.”

_ We marked him. _

“Like that helped.”

_ I can so help! I’ll help you get rid of Talbot! _

“You. Will. NOT.”

_ Will so. You’ll see. You wait. You’ll see… _

_ \----- _

Sleep was out of the question. Veld went into the bathroom to survey the damage to his pride. He cleaned the cuts and went back to the bedroom to find the knife. Just as he’d thought, it was his best filleting knife, damn it. 

Tomorrow he was going to buy a lock for a cabinet, one with an alarm on it, and put the kitchen knives out of Vincent’s reach. Tonight--well, no lock would keep a Turk out of a bedroom.

Vincent’s head came up as Veld popped his door open.

“Valentine, you and I are going to have a talk.”

Vincent wouldn’t look at him. “You’ve said enough. I got the message.”

“Did you?” Veld touched a finger to the knife marks on his chest. “You carved your gods-damned initials in me! I know we used to get a little rough with each other in the old days, but this is beyond the pale even for you. What the hell is going on with you? And DON’T say it wasn’t you!”

“It was Mask and me at the same time. He can ride my mind while leaving me aware of what he’s doing. The knife was his idea.”

“And you went along with it?” Just like that, the air chilled. Veld shivered.

“It’s just a scratch,” Vincent said, tossing his head. “I only wanted to remind you that you’re mine, not Talbot’s!”

“Vincent. I give you my word I am not interested in Talbot. For gods’ sake, he’s just a kid!”

“He’s old enough to know what he wants! I don‘t trust him. Mask doesn‘t like him!”

“Excuse me if I don’t take his advice.” Veld approached, cautiously; how could he be certain Mask wasn’t there, watching him from behind Vincent’s angry red eyes? “Have I ever given you a reason to think I don’t want you?”

“You mean besides tonight?”

“That wasn’t you coming on to me. It may have been your body, but not your will.”

“You said  _ no  _ to my body.”

“I said  _ no  _ to Mask, not to you. How was I to know you were aware of what was happening?”

A bit of color rose in Vincent’s face, but he didn’t back down. “You could’ve done what he wanted. What’s the harm?”

“You don’t mean that. It would’ve been wrong, for both of us.”

“Who cares?” Vincent rose, moving out of Veld’s reach. “You haven’t touched me since the traffickers mission. I can’t even talk to you when you’re that angry.”

“I had good reason to be angry. You broke your promise to tell me when you couldn’t control your headmates. It compromised the mission, and you’re better than that.”

“The girl again,” Vincent muttered, his voice heavy with bitterness. “That was weeks ago and we’re still not back to normal.” He paused, struggling with the words.

“All my life, I’ve always come second, or a distant third. My mother chose death. My father chose his work. You chose a wife instead of me, Lucrecia chose another man…I thought you and I had a chance this time around, but now you’ve chosen a stranger’s child over me. I just want to come first in someone’s life, just once! Is that so selfish of me?”

Veld thought about that. “No. It’s not. But please don’t tell me you’re jealous of a little girl who’s been abducted, abused, and shot in the head.”

Vincent said nothing.

“Well?” said Veld.

“I don’t want to lie to you, Veld,” Vincent said in a shaky whisper.

Veld sighed. Gods, was he ever going to get a full night’s sleep? “Let’s just leave it there for now, all right? You’re off combat class duty. If Talbot gets on your nerves that much, just stay away from him.”

Vincent blinked. “I’m grounded?”

“No. I’ll find you something else to do. Street patrol with a sector supervisor, maybe. Can you handle that?”

Vincent nodded.

“Good. Stop in my office in the morning. Now, I’m going back to bed.”

“…Alone?”

“That’s up to you. And Mask, I suppose.”

“I…guess I’ll stay here.”

Veld walked out, shutting the door behind him.

Mask hissed, rustling in the shadows of Vincent’s mind.

_ You see? Talbot’s the reason Bronze doesn’t want to play with us! _

“Shut up.”

 

#####

 

After a week on street patrol, Vincent declared himself supremely bored. Petty criminals were no challenge, and even breaking up a burglary ring provided only a temporary respite. Veld remained unmoved; Vincent stayed on patrol. Veld found someone else to take over the combat class, pointing out that he was giving Vincent special consideration. 

Vincent continued instructing at the shooting range. Talbot had proven adept with firearms; he showed up for scheduled practice sessions, which Veld sometimes observed. He suspected that Vincent took secret delight in outshooting Talbot every time. Since he generally outshot everyone, Talbot couldn’t claim he was intentionally showing him up. Instead, he asked for pointers and extra instruction--from Veld.

Veld obliged, but only when Vincent was also present. Let him see that there was nothing between Veld and Talbot; Valentine needed to grow up and stop acting like a possessive teenager.

To that end, Veld sent Talbot out on a mission, along with several other newer recruits. Under the command of one his sector supervisors, they took down a gang running a protection racket in Edge’s commercial district. 

“Talbot did fine,” Veld told Vincent at dinner that night. “Obeyed orders, worked fast. No one died. In fact, Talbot blocked a shot that would’ve killed another newbie, name of Dawson. They worked well together.”

“Great.” Vincent pushed food around his plate, sighed, pushed the plate away.

“I think you should partner Dawson and Talbot,” said Veld. “They’ll make a good team.”

“If you say so.” Vincent finished his second glass of wine, poured a third.

Veld frowned. “Gigas coming out?”

Vincent looked at him. “What?”

“The wine.” Veld gestured at the now-empty bottle. “You can’t get drunk unless Gigas takes over, or so you said.”

“I’m not trying to get drunk,” said Vincent, downing half the glass at once. “So, Talbot and Dawson? Fine. Are you done?”

He rose and began clearing the table. Veld sighed, but said no more, watching as Vincent collected plates and utensils without once remarking on the absence of knives at dinner. The rest of the evening passed in taut silence, neither of them willing to give ground.

The next day Veld learned that the little girl’s condition had improved from critical to serious. He allowed himself to relax just a bit, but it was short-lived: Word came that the traffickers had regrouped and were active once more. The tip came from a trusted source, but there was a catch: They had about forty-five minutes to act on it.

“I want to go,” Vincent said to Veld as Veld shrugged into a bullet-proof vest in the WRO armory.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

He didn’t have to give even that much of a reason. If they were still Turks, that would have been the end of it - unless you were Valentine. Even then, Vincent never knew when to let something drop.

“Come on, Veld. I want to make it up to you.” 

“Then do your job and stay out of trouble.” 

Veld double-checked his gun and slipped it into its holster. It was backup; his main weapon was the rifle slung over one shoulder. Vincent, he noted, had Cerberus strapped to his thigh, evidently confident that he could get Veld to agree.

“I need to do this, Veld.” Following him to the door, Vincent stepped in front of him, reaching for his arm. 

“Vincent, I don’t have time to argue with you.” He had twenty minutes left to get to where he needed to be; he itched to be moving.

“I know that.” Vincent let him go, following him out the door. “Just give me a minute.”

Veld glanced at the van waiting to take his picked group of agents to the traffickers’ location. The last of the agents were just climbing in. Judit, Veld’s second for this task, looked at Veld, nodding to signal readiness.

“You have fifty seconds to tell me why I should repeat the mistake I made last time,” said Veld.

“It wasn’t your fault, Veld. It was mine.”

“I was in charge. That makes it my fault.” 

“Fine, we’ll call it fifty-fifty. I don’t like this situation. You’re rushing into it. What if it’s a trap?”

Okay, the hell with it. There wasn’t a kind way to say it. “I need to be able to depend on you, Vincent. We can’t have a repeat of the last time. Absolutely can’t. The answer is no.”

Veld stepped around Vincent, jogging briskly down the steps to the street. He took a few seconds to confirm details with Judit and the driver, then slipped into the van and into the middle bench seat. A moment later they pulled away from the building, heading north.

It took him about five minutes to feel the steady gaze against the back of his head, and all of a second to recognize it.

Veld turned to look behind him, and swore under his breath. He rose and moved to the rear seat. “You’re pushing your luck for all it’s worth, Valentine.”

“I know that, too.” Vincent stayed calm, his eyes steady on Veld’s face. No tantrums, no display of hurt feelings. “Haven’t I been stable the past few weeks? Masker is under control.”

Unwillingly, Veld wavered. He could damn sure use Vincent’s skills. “Can you swear to that? No ifs, ands or buts, no halfway measures, no shit? I am one hundred percent serious, Valentine.”

“Yes,” said Vincent, one hand flashing their private, years-old Turk sign. “Turk’s honor. I swear in the name of Risa Kei.”

Veld frowned. “Who?”

“The little girl who was shot. I did some research. She was taken a year ago from a village outside Junon. I just got confirmation.”

Veld stared at him for a minute. “When this is over, you’re going to tell me how you found that out. Now what’ve you got besides the hand-cannon?”

Vincent parted his jacket to show the shoulder holster.

“Good,” Veld said. “Got your earpiece and phone?”

“Of course.”

“Then you’re with Judit. Follow her lead  _ exactly _ .”

“I plan to.”

Veld returned to his seat. Vincent would have to prove himself again, and Veld had other concerns besides that. One of them sat next to him: Talbot.

The kid was talented, had done well on several minor assignments. This one would be trial by fire; it had to happen sometime. 

“Coming up on the perimeter,” said the van’s driver. “Another quarter-mile.”

“Right.” Veld looked at Talbot, who sat staring out the dark-tinted window with an eager light in his eyes and a slight curve to his lips. “Talbot, you’re with me, Dawson and Kimura.”

Talbot nodded. “Yes, sir.” His hand flexed on the butt of his gun. “I’ll be right beside you.”

The address was a square two-story built of pale concrete, half a block long, shared by a couple of unrelated businesses. Both were closed; it was after six o’clock.

Judit’s group took the front, Vincent in the lead, while Veld, Talbot and the other two men slipped down the alley at the building’s rear. If there’d ever been any security cams, they were long gone. A few corroded wires hung over one door far down the alley. 

Talbot jimmied the lock, taking a few seconds longer than Veld or Vincent would have, his hands shaking a bit. Veld gave him an encouraging nod, and sent Kimura in first. He, Talbot and Dawson followed.

No alarms went off in the small office, unless they were silent ones. That wouldn’t matter; Veld and his agents were the law here, and someone back at HQ would know what tripped the alarms.

Talbot and Dawson checked the rear office, bathroom and storage areas.

“Clear,” Talbot called.

A stairway led to the next floor. Veld sent Dawson and Kimura upward, waiting until they returned and indicated that it, too, was clear.

Veld led his group toward the inner offices, guns drawn, Talbot at the rear. The tipster had indicated that the traffickers would be deep in the building’s interior. Vincent, Judit and the rest of the second team ought to be closing in on them just about--

A rolling boom shook the building. Veld cursed, thumbed the phone in his pocket as he reached the inner door.

“Judit?”

Silence from his earpiece.

“Vince?”

Nothing.

He touched the door, heard distant shots. The door was still cool. He kicked it open. Smoke drifted in the space beyond.

Behind him, two shots. He swung around.

Dawson and Kimura lay bleeding out on the floor, and Talbot stood, grin on his face, gun pointed at Veld‘s head.

“Surprised, old man?” The grin faded. “Drop the guns. Both of ‘em.”

Veld’s fingers twitched on the rifle. He could risk it--No. Talbot was maybe six feet away, wouldn’t miss. Unlike Veld himself, who’d damn sure missed something he should’ve seen. He deserved to get shot, for his own stupidity - just not by a scum-sucking perv who preyed on kids.

“Thought you were better than this, Talbot,” Veld said, easing his rifle to the floor.

“Like you can talk. You think I didn’t pick up on you and Valentine?” Talbot smirked. “I hear you’ve been a thing for years. How old was he when you started him, you old hypocrite? Now drop the other gun!” 

Veld pulled the pistol, dropping it at his feet. Talbot took a step, kicked both guns aside, coming just within Veld’s reach.

Veld grabbed for the rifle with one hand and Talbot’s throat with the other. Talbot jerked backward, wrenching the gun away, driving his elbow into Veld’s face. As Veld staggered, Talbot brought the gun up again.

“You fuckin’  _ urgghh-- _ ”

Blood spurted around the knife blade in his throat. His hand convulsed on the rifle.

“Down, Bronze!”

Veld hit the floor as the gun discharged, bullet passing close enough to burn. A black blur leapt over him, seized Talbot by the collar, put Cerberus right between his eyes, and fired.

Blood, brains and bits of shattered skull went everywhere.

Vincent flung the corpse aside and dropped down next to Veld.

“ _ BronzzzeV-Veld? _ Veld!”

“I’m fine,” Veld coughed. Breathing hurt. Blood dripped down his face. He waved a hand at his men. “See to them…maybe they’re not dead.” Little hope, but he had to be sure.

Vincent sat back on his heels, eyes darting from Veld to the men, and back. “You’re hurt.”

“Dammit, Valentine, focus!”

Vincent blinked. “Sorry.” He slid over to the men, checking for signs of life. “They’re dead.” He turned back to Veld. “I’m sorry. Too slow--”

“Judit and the others?”

“Outside.”

“Injuries?”

“A few, but minor. Oh, and we got your so-called source, too. Judit’s holding him.” 

Veld actually smiled, which only made his broken nose hurt more. “Oh, good. Looking forward to a little talk with  _ him _ .”

“Let me fix your face, Veld.”

Veld waved him off. “Later. Let’s go.”

He collected his guns, and Talbot’s. Vincent picked up Dawson’s and Kimura’s, stopping to close their eyes and murmur a few words to mark their passing. Veld watched, and stopped him when he started for the door.

“Vince. Who, exactly, killed Talbot? You or Mask?”

Vincent met his eyes, silent for what felt like a full minute. “I did.”   


 

#####

The hospital room seemed wall-to-wall people. Apparently Risa Kei came from a large family, and it looked like every member of it had come to visit. Veld stood back, out of the way, letting the parade of anxious relatives crowd the little girl’s bed.

Still pale and thin, her head shaved and wrapped in bandages, nevertheless she was sitting up and smiling. Clearly, the hospital staff had made an exception, letting all of these people in. Not being related, he didn’t want to intrude. Just tying up loose ends, as it were. Nothing to do with any imagined resemblance to his own kid. 

“Excuse me? Sir?”

Veld blinked. A woman stood beside him, small and plump, her sweet round face the very picture of Risa’s, plus twenty or so years.

“You’re the one who saved my daughter, aren’t you?”

_ I’m the one who nearly got her killed. _ “I was involved, yes.”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Thank you! Thank you so much!”

She threw her arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. “It was so horrible, thinking I’d lost her, you don’t even know…!”

_ Gods _ . “I can’t take all the credit, ma’am. There were others…” One in particular, who’d pulled off a disappearing act as soon as he and Veld had entered the hospital.

“Please thank them for me.” She wiped her eyes. “For saving her, and for bringing us up here. Risa’s going to be all right. The doctors say she’s turned the corner now.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“I have to get back to Risa, but just know that we’ll be in your debt, always. If you ever need anything, you just come and see us.” She shook his hand, smiling now. “And you stay safe, you and your team, all right?”

“We’ll do our best.” He watched her scurry back into the crowded room, back to her daughter’s side.

The kid would live. She’d grow up, probably watched so much more closely now. She’d be safe. That was a good thing. And he was a bitter old fool.

On his way down the hall to the exit, a shadow detached itself from a corner and matched steps with him.

“Oh, you’re done hiding now?” Veld said.

Vincent ignored that. “So everything is good? She can go home?”

“Yes. When she’s strong enough.” Veld glanced at Vincent. “You paid for their transport here, I take it. You never told me how you found her family.”

Vincent shrugged. “Turk skills.”

“Uh-huh. Well, you can apply them to the other kids we pulled out of there. I’m sure they’d like to go home, too.”

“I can do that.” Vincent held the door open for Veld, followed him outside. Veld stopped on the front steps.

“Valentine, you did a good job.”

Vincent shook his head. “Just fixed a mistake.”

“Yes, but it meant the world to them,” said Veld, knowing full well that hadn’t been the reason Vincent had done it. But who was he to judge? He’d made more than a few mistakes himself lately.

Time to make a start on fixing some of them. 

“Let’s take a walk, Vincent. Got a few things I want to talk about.” He went down the steps, leading the way home.

~ End ~


End file.
